If someone were to tell Leander ten years ago, or even two years ago, that he would be seeking release in the form of mind-altering substances, he would have laughed them off with carefully chosen, harsh words of sharp dismissal. Drugs dulled the mind, something a person like him would never actively seek... he couldn’t afford it, not when a large part of him still believed he was on the way to greatness. But, as the arcs passed, and he festered in his resentment for the life he lost, when his resentment for his own disgusting failures grew, the passive’s turmoil battled against his ingrained beliefs.
The days were monotonous at best. Yes, he was still lucky enough to be continually exposed to more of an education than perhaps any other passive in Anaxas, but it wasn’t enough. He doubted it would ever be enough, not when he knew what his pay had been, only to have it ripped away from him before he ever had a chance to make his mark on the world.
He would have been great. He would have been someone. With everything and anything at his disposal, the boy would have thrived in his journey towards glory. Instead, he had spend eight years in s book shop, learning to record numbers in a book, learning to keep track of others’ expenses, learning to find loopholes and ‘fix’ the facts for a King he barely thought was worthy of the title.
The only excitement he found was in counterfeiting. That, in and of itself, had been the gateway to his reckless behaviours. The thrill of the risk caused him to seek out more, and he had turned to gambling, prostitution (buying services, not selling himself, of course), alcohol and, finally, drugs. Initially, it had been all about the continued risk, the illicit aspect was too tempting to resist when he first approached a dealer. His first experience was far more than he could have expected. The high was what he had been seeking, and it was every bit what he had read about - for, up until now, all of his world experiences had come from books. The aftermath of the high, however, when the drugs still coursed through his system, he had not been prepared for.
The opiate had caused Leander’s mind to slow down. Rather than the thoughts flying through his mind before he could get a grasp on them, he could see them more clearly. More importantly, he didn’t care enough to worry about these thoughts anyway. It was bliss, to relax and not feel like he was being torn in two. The discovery that he could rid himself of the white-hot fire constantly alight in his stomach was too much for him not to return to the dealer. Eon became a familiar face, discreet and trusted, as far as Leo would trust a criminal, of course. Again and again, at least once a season, he returned to the older man to seek out the release. Today was one such day.