Identity isn't a static thing. You aren't the same person you were when you woke up yesterday. As mercurial as weather is in our fine day-and-age, our identities change on a regular basis. For some, that's a disgusting feeling. For others, it's a freeing way to find yourself over and over again. To be someone new. To be something new. To be whatever it is you weren't yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. To be whatever it is you want to be, tomorrow.

I've made the mistake of attempting to be a man I was, before. Offering my opinions, offering parts of me I don't even have for myself. It's a self control issue, I'm aware. I'm aware it's something I need to rid myself of. I don't have an idea of who I want to be tomorrow, but now? I'm well aware I want to find myself in the clutches of a man I was before I reconnected with a softer, warmer man.

I'm not. I don't want to be. And I won't be.

There's a certain freedom that comes with the decision to remove yourself from others' lives. That freedom feels like standing outside in a warm rain with nothing to protect yourself from the rain. You're washed clean in a way you can't be if you're trying to hide from the rain beneath layers of a coat, an umbrella, or whatever else it is you think you can use to stay dry. Maybe even a newspaper. But that won't save your hair from frizzing, or your white shirt from becoming see-through. Maybe that's a mistake you should make less often.

Identity isn't a static thing. And I don't want to be the man I was. I'm very fortunate to have a distinct ability to put bits and pieces of myself away. Go ahead and call that self control, discipline, or any number of mental illnesses. It isn't a break with reality, it's a deterrent from a who and what you'd rather not be. Mind over matter, and all that Dr. Seuss jazz.

The ability to be a person you once were, you've never been, or you want to be is one of my favorite things about new clientele. Though I'd have someone else step in and meet new clients for me, for the most part, it was something I wanted to do in this instance. Tempted with torture, violence, and malevolent lairs beneath a vampire's establishment... how could I stay away?

I chose not to.

"Hello, Mr. Dorian," the voice of a little thing who was more likely than not four or five times my age cooed as I stepped into a bar I hadn't frequented before. How I love my reputation preceding me.

A familiar shiver of power and intuition ran up my spine, and in that moment my Shadow settled into a booth in the corner of the main room in the bar. I nodded to the hostess who was clearly briefed on my arrival, and I followed it to its chosen seat in a darker corner but not before finding an open space at the bar.

"What are you drinking?" The bartender asked. I had almost expected she was a telepath, and would have whatever it was I wanted ready before I'd answered. And yet she didn't, so I was absolutely forced to procure a drink on my own while she stared at my blue eyes a little longer than necessary.

"Call it self-serve," I said without a beat, a glass of whiskey finding its way onto the bar. My love for brown liquor, blondes, and earth-made substances coaxed the inkling of a smile to my lips, but it didn't reach further than that before I stepped away from the bar and took my seat in the corner, awaiting an opportunity to be the man I'd chosen to be, now.

Regardless of my disdain for the undead, I was more than prepared to meet with my latest client.