`epiphany
Jan 14, 2012 11:41:22 GMT -5
Post by lordbeckett on Jan 14, 2012 11:41:22 GMT -5
Beckett knew one thing: he hadn't been quite himself lately.
It was akin to sometimes having delusions one couldn't explain. Even after all this time, he still wasn't quite used to the fact that he had been abandoned by the Company. He'd become a different person - a madman, in his own eyes - and he barely recognized himself. He'd needed something, anything, to satisfy how empty he'd been feeling, not to mention how terribly bored he'd been amid all of the research and the plethora of notes.
So it had taken over his mind, and enter Velda.
Of course, he was glad he had backed out of it when he did. Heaven knew where he would have been, had fate let them proceed... Beckett made a small gagging sound from his throat. This was what he had almost resorted to? The very thought was sickening.
I am a disgraceful human being, he thought, staring deep into his reflection on the bathroom mirror. God knows what caused me to do that... I must be going mad. I am better than this. I know I am. He adjusted his wig, attempting to recreate the proud, noble gentleman he had always been before. I won't be stopped by mere provincialism. It is all the more reasonable to attempt to stay sane.
It was more difficult to stay mentally stable than Beckett thought. Since the downfall of the Company, he had almost no one to talk to, save Ariel (and Velda, although he only wanted to forget she had ever existed...), and though he usually desired to be alone, this was on the verge of being ridiculous. Of course, Ariel went out every once in a while, leaving Beckett to 'hold down the fort'. It didn't really do much for him besides make him progressively better at making dinner.
When he would get to the point where he would WANT to make dinner, if only for his own amusement...
Beckett exited from the bathroom and lay sprawled on the couch, not exactly in the state of mind to be concerned about how much of a slob he looked doing so. He really wasn't in the right state of mind to do ANYTHING at the moment. Glancing at the television (some crime show or other - he really never paid attention), he promptly turned it off before staring at the ceiling, attempting to clear his mind and refocus himself.
Who was he? He was Cutler Beckett. A name at which all pirates should have feared. Intertwining and clashing alliances was what he did best. They all were the pawns, and he was the chessmaster. That was who he was. The player of the game. The king. He didn't need anyone else to accompany him. They would all be pawns.
Everyone.
Of course, Ariel had to tell him that, with this mentality, he'd have no friends. And she was right. Though it was a comfort, he'd also grown a bit delusional and - heaven forbid it - clingy. Beckett shook his head; it was about time he'd forgotten that had happened. As for the gift? It was a waste of precious funds. It was what had made him destitute, and for what? It was worth nothing, now that he had been pulled back into reality. He'd considered burning it. That was what he was going to do, eventually, for he certainly had no use for it. Could he have sold it? Possibly. He could have sold it for much more than it was worth, but it would still plague him that it still existed. Yes, though he would have most definitely received monetary gain from selling the accursed object, it would have brought him personal gain if he simply burned it.
Subconsciously, he had found the small box in his hand (as it had been left on the table from when he had previously pondered what to do with it). Looking it over a good few times, Beckett then flung it across the room, the box bouncing off the television screen with a small "plink". It satisfied him for now.
It didn't satisfy him for long. Why had he made himself destitute over his own insanity? Who did he think he was?
Indeed, who did he think he was? He was Lord Cutler Beckett, one of the men who came closest to ruling the world since Alexander the Great. At one point, he had held so much power in his hands, and suddenly it had all come tumbling down, leaving him not much more than merely an insignificant man. A brilliant man, but an insignificant man nonetheless. Yes, he was a brilliant man. What reason did he have to deny it? Even in his helplessness, he had still managed to retain some of his intelligence, and he'd even managed to be clever in some occasions, based on ideas he would have never gained, had he not been sent to this world. Yes, no matter what would happen, he would still be brilliant.
So why did he think his name was forever shamed? It was hardly a name, and he barely had the chance to build it up to its former glory again. So there were a few cracks in his heart - what man didn't have them? However, Beckett wasn't going to make it open further. That would have only led to more trouble and more beating of his precious name into the ground. And the ground was where his name may as well have been, so what other direction was there to go but up? If Beckett knew the shell around his emotions had become this fragile, he would only have to make the shell twice as strong. How dare they think that this would stop him!
Certainly, Beckett would have to try twice as hard to re-earn his name. This would have never been acceptable in his time at the Company, the way he had been acting. He needed to open his eyes; look, unblinking, straight ahead; and he needed to learn to BE Lord Cutler Beckett again.
Yes. He was Lord Cutler Beckett.
Lord Cutler Beckett.
The mere name caused his smirk, absent for so long, to return.
As far as he was concerned, "Cutler" no longer existed. Anyone who didn't call him "Lord Beckett" would be doomed to the noose... Had he been able to get away with hanging. However, that bridge would be crossed when the time came. In the meantime, he would have to try twice as hard to build himself up once again. That woman no longer existed, and nor would she bring him down to her level ever again. He knew better now. Much better.
Beckett certainly felt much better as well, as his eyes - formerly a shade of navy - had become a brighter blue. He looked much more aware and alert, and soon he was going to return to his bedroom to look over all of the plots he had left unfinished.
He certainly felt himself again, for the first time in a very long time.
He could almost laugh.
It was akin to sometimes having delusions one couldn't explain. Even after all this time, he still wasn't quite used to the fact that he had been abandoned by the Company. He'd become a different person - a madman, in his own eyes - and he barely recognized himself. He'd needed something, anything, to satisfy how empty he'd been feeling, not to mention how terribly bored he'd been amid all of the research and the plethora of notes.
So it had taken over his mind, and enter Velda.
Of course, he was glad he had backed out of it when he did. Heaven knew where he would have been, had fate let them proceed... Beckett made a small gagging sound from his throat. This was what he had almost resorted to? The very thought was sickening.
I am a disgraceful human being, he thought, staring deep into his reflection on the bathroom mirror. God knows what caused me to do that... I must be going mad. I am better than this. I know I am. He adjusted his wig, attempting to recreate the proud, noble gentleman he had always been before. I won't be stopped by mere provincialism. It is all the more reasonable to attempt to stay sane.
It was more difficult to stay mentally stable than Beckett thought. Since the downfall of the Company, he had almost no one to talk to, save Ariel (and Velda, although he only wanted to forget she had ever existed...), and though he usually desired to be alone, this was on the verge of being ridiculous. Of course, Ariel went out every once in a while, leaving Beckett to 'hold down the fort'. It didn't really do much for him besides make him progressively better at making dinner.
When he would get to the point where he would WANT to make dinner, if only for his own amusement...
Beckett exited from the bathroom and lay sprawled on the couch, not exactly in the state of mind to be concerned about how much of a slob he looked doing so. He really wasn't in the right state of mind to do ANYTHING at the moment. Glancing at the television (some crime show or other - he really never paid attention), he promptly turned it off before staring at the ceiling, attempting to clear his mind and refocus himself.
Who was he? He was Cutler Beckett. A name at which all pirates should have feared. Intertwining and clashing alliances was what he did best. They all were the pawns, and he was the chessmaster. That was who he was. The player of the game. The king. He didn't need anyone else to accompany him. They would all be pawns.
Everyone.
Of course, Ariel had to tell him that, with this mentality, he'd have no friends. And she was right. Though it was a comfort, he'd also grown a bit delusional and - heaven forbid it - clingy. Beckett shook his head; it was about time he'd forgotten that had happened. As for the gift? It was a waste of precious funds. It was what had made him destitute, and for what? It was worth nothing, now that he had been pulled back into reality. He'd considered burning it. That was what he was going to do, eventually, for he certainly had no use for it. Could he have sold it? Possibly. He could have sold it for much more than it was worth, but it would still plague him that it still existed. Yes, though he would have most definitely received monetary gain from selling the accursed object, it would have brought him personal gain if he simply burned it.
Subconsciously, he had found the small box in his hand (as it had been left on the table from when he had previously pondered what to do with it). Looking it over a good few times, Beckett then flung it across the room, the box bouncing off the television screen with a small "plink". It satisfied him for now.
It didn't satisfy him for long. Why had he made himself destitute over his own insanity? Who did he think he was?
Indeed, who did he think he was? He was Lord Cutler Beckett, one of the men who came closest to ruling the world since Alexander the Great. At one point, he had held so much power in his hands, and suddenly it had all come tumbling down, leaving him not much more than merely an insignificant man. A brilliant man, but an insignificant man nonetheless. Yes, he was a brilliant man. What reason did he have to deny it? Even in his helplessness, he had still managed to retain some of his intelligence, and he'd even managed to be clever in some occasions, based on ideas he would have never gained, had he not been sent to this world. Yes, no matter what would happen, he would still be brilliant.
So why did he think his name was forever shamed? It was hardly a name, and he barely had the chance to build it up to its former glory again. So there were a few cracks in his heart - what man didn't have them? However, Beckett wasn't going to make it open further. That would have only led to more trouble and more beating of his precious name into the ground. And the ground was where his name may as well have been, so what other direction was there to go but up? If Beckett knew the shell around his emotions had become this fragile, he would only have to make the shell twice as strong. How dare they think that this would stop him!
Certainly, Beckett would have to try twice as hard to re-earn his name. This would have never been acceptable in his time at the Company, the way he had been acting. He needed to open his eyes; look, unblinking, straight ahead; and he needed to learn to BE Lord Cutler Beckett again.
Yes. He was Lord Cutler Beckett.
Lord Cutler Beckett.
The mere name caused his smirk, absent for so long, to return.
As far as he was concerned, "Cutler" no longer existed. Anyone who didn't call him "Lord Beckett" would be doomed to the noose... Had he been able to get away with hanging. However, that bridge would be crossed when the time came. In the meantime, he would have to try twice as hard to build himself up once again. That woman no longer existed, and nor would she bring him down to her level ever again. He knew better now. Much better.
Beckett certainly felt much better as well, as his eyes - formerly a shade of navy - had become a brighter blue. He looked much more aware and alert, and soon he was going to return to his bedroom to look over all of the plots he had left unfinished.
He certainly felt himself again, for the first time in a very long time.
He could almost laugh.