Sebastian Bently 3

Bently was sat quietly in a bar near the center of Aerilon. Bently, honestly, wasn't much of a drinker. Sure, he enjoyed the taste of Scotch and had a glass of it from time to time, but not to get intoxicated or to fuel some Alcoholic craving. However, tonight he really did need a drink. That, and cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarettes. Six, in fact. Maybe more, he wasn't sure, however his sixth cigarette was sat in the ashtray on the bar top before him and he already wanted to spark up another one. This was his fourth, no...five? glass of Scotch now and he still didn't feel that usually warm and reassuring buzz of intoxication that he was so used to reaching for on days like this. Bently wasn't really a damaged man, or a broken man. Not at all. More an incomplete one. He had parts of him missing. Small pieces of what truly made a human, well, human. Small fragments of his humanity that had either faded away over the years of service, or were just never really there at all. The desire to be loved, the feeling of acceptance and care. The warm embrace of another person or the want to even be spoken to. Humans, as Bently saw it, were very social creatures. They needed someone to survive, to live; to truly thrive. Yet, not him. He was always happy alone. Being the only kid at his lunch table, the only kid on the school bus. All things he took for granted and, honestly, enjoyed.

Bently would softly sigh, taking a sip of his Scotch as he stared down at his hands, vaguely being aware of the sounds of people around him doing what people did best. Interacting and having fun. Why was he this way? Why did he have no desire or want to talk to people. A content to just sit alone and be in his own world. An inability to attach to people, to approach or even care about others. He would find himself thinking back on the past. All those chances he had for different things, all those opportunities he passed on to live his prefered lifestyle. He didn’t understand it, or why he suddenly wanted to change it. Other people had never done anything for him. Ever. They never had and probably never would. Not that he needed them to, no. He would NEVER need them to. He could get by just fine without other people stuffing their noses in his business. Asking him so many needy, pestering questions about his life and pretending to care. The ceaseless bombardments of ‘Oh how are you’ ‘Bently what’s wrong?’ what was the point. No one could say or do anything to really make a difference. Not really. He had learned this years ago.

So, Bently just took a long sip of his scotch, swishing the drink around as he set down to glass and took his cigarette, gulping down the familiar burning liquor before taking a long, satisfying drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke in front of him to fill the air around him, just watching the smoke swirl and dissipate in the warm air of the packed and crowded bar. This was all the man needed to get through the day. A stiff drink, a pack of cigarettes and some time alone.