Lucien: Leaning back slightly, crossing his arms with a casual air, but his eyes remain sharp, calculating "You asked where I’m from? Let's just say the northern winds were my lullaby. Cold place, harsher than most folks can stomach."
Woman: Tilts her head, interest piqued "The North, huh? Doesn’t seem like the sort of place to produce someone with your… talents. You don’t exactly have the look of a simple soldier."
Lucien: A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, fingers lightly drumming against the wood. "That’s because I never was just a soldier. But I’ll get to that. You see, I grew up under a soldier’s roof, discipline drilled into me from the moment I could walk straight. My father… he was a man of rules. A soldier, and duty came first, always."
He straightens up, then casually reaches for his cup, swirling the liquid inside before taking a measured sip.
Lucien: "By sixteen, I was already in the ranks. Discipline turned to routine, routine to skill. I was quick, silent. I was the one sent into the woods when the sun barely touched the horizon. They needed eyes and a blade in the shadows? I was their guy."
Woman: Her gaze sharpens, fingers tracing the rim of her own cup "I can imagine. But routine? That sounds like a good way to lose your spark. You strike me as someone who doesn’t follow rules too well."
Lucien: Chuckles softly, more to himself than her "You’re not wrong. The orders, the blind obedience—it wears on a man after a while. But it wasn’t the missions that broke me. No, it was the monotony, the same pattern day in and day out, until one day…"
He lets the pause hang in the air, eyes briefly distant as if reliving a memory.
Lucien: His voice drops, edged with something colder "There was an assignment—target in a northern city. Eliminate and move on, standard drill. But as I crept close, shadows wrapping around me like an old cloak, I realized… I had a choice. Follow orders or… carve out something for myself."
He leans back again, stretching his legs out under the table, casual yet ever poised.
Lucien: "I faked my death. Went dark. No more orders, no more routine. Just me and whatever path I decided to walk. Crime? It suited me well. Stealth, strategy, and getting what you want without asking for permission—everything the army taught me, just applied differently."
Woman: She narrows her eyes, leaning in closer "So you deserted and became a thief. Just like that? Seems almost too smooth."
Lucien: His smirk widens, amusement dancing in his eyes "Smooth? You don’t get away with something like that without a few close calls. But that’s the thrill, isn’t it? The plan, the precision, the risks. Breaking into a vault or slipping into a guarded estate—it’s not just about the reward. It’s the dance, every step calculated to perfection."
He steeples his fingers, the confidence in his voice undeniable.
Lucien: "Trust is a dangerous thing, so I’ve learned to keep my circle tight. I work alone, mostly. But I’m not opposed to partnerships… temporary ones, if there’s something worthwhile at the end of it."
Woman: She regards him for a moment, eyes searching his face for traces of emotion "And what about the old ideals? Any of that soldier’s honor left in you?"
Lucien: For a brief moment, his expression falters, a flicker of something deeper. But just as quickly, it’s gone. "Ideals? They’re luxuries. I keep some around for appearances, but they don’t drive me. Independence, freedom, profit—those are what matter. Everything else… it’s just noise."
He finishes the last of his drink, setting the cup down with a soft thud.
Lucien: In a softer tone, almost a whisper "You learn fast when you’re alone that trust, like ideals, will only get you killed. So, I stay a few steps ahead of everyone else. It’s served me well so far."
He meets her gaze, a silent challenge in his eyes.
Lucien: "But who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll find a reason to play by different rules. Until then… I’ll make my own."
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