Cheers to An Old Friend

Gavin Savere has surfaced.
I thought his purpose had been served and that he was gone. Not so, apparently.

Captain Savere was a most unsavory character, to be a man of honor's alter-ego, which is what I must assume he was, being born of some inner desire my consciousness had no knowledge of. He was tough, yet not uncaring; lawless, yet not without mercy; a thief, yet not without honor. Gavin was an enigma, then, and some personality strong enough to carry....well, both of us...which was the purpose of his creation, I suppose. It is not unusual that I should empathize with him, even yearn again for the ruthless abandonment with which he lived his life. But I have always been a man of encumbered responsibilities, not that I swayed from them, not at all. Sooner or later Gavin had to surrender to that, even as I had to acknowledge it again.

Timing was my fatal flaw. Too late to save my wife, too late to save the children. That I had saved them before was no excuse, it being my destiny to do so repetitively, until I got it right, I would guess.

Is that to be Gavin's legacy, then? A return so that I get it right, a second chance where none is warranted or deserved, a reprieve from damnation, a precarious balance upon the edge, not knowing which way to fall? The falling is of course inevitable, I am but a man.

I think too much. That is Sabatier.

What is Savere in this situation? I think I know too well how to answer that. The amnesia faded long ago and left me with two halves, inside the one, and I know them both. Savere would take to his berth, to his bottle, drink himself near to oblivion, or even past it, and therefore save himself the embarrassment of further action.

I think to try it his way, for once. It can hardly do a harm and who knows but what an unexpected answer may lie within the good Captain's presence that he be willing to share. The Anna-Maria will be my cushion, should I fall, and none shall be the wiser for my demise, done in solitude. So shall pass my night and my disappointment with it, perhaps even my anger, although that may be asking too much of the unscrupulous Captain.

Day will break me soon enough. She always does.