A Slave and a banker, Dreams of (hey dummy don't forget to add this to your threads)

[Abra]

20 Cylus 718

Abra’s eyes were seemingly lost in thought as he trudged down the path in front of him. In the usual fashion he had become suddenly aware that he was dreaming and was given the choice of seizing the moment and becoming lucid or drifting back into the passenger seat of this dream. A certain excitement filled him making the choice easy. He decided to observe only. He was going back towards his imaginary Master’s ship, his chains dragging against the rough surface as he did.

As he did, he continued to rub his thighs in a vain attempt to relieve the pain and redding that was already starting to bruise given how hard and often each was slapped during the night’s event. It had been another night of being beaten by his master, having to do things he loathed to do but had no choice but to do if he hoped to avoid punishment. Life as a slave was far from easy, more so when your master was abusive. Abra marveled at the false memories he had of being a slave for ages.

Still, it was nights like these that made him really long for freedom. Despite walking alone, there was little chance of him getting to the freedom he so desired given the cuffs and fetters he was forced to wear, and the iron collar fixed around his neck that helped tell anyone who came across him just what he was. Either way, he was too tired to make any attempts at escape, and before long he drew closer towards the harbor, his eyes focused dead ahead, and his mind blocking out any and all looks, leers, and glares that were shot his way.

Abra kept walking and his form changed. He wasn’t a slave anymore, he was a smart man judging by the glasses that fell from the sky onto his face. With every step he took, a building started constructing itself around him. He spoke the words:

“Right, can I have another one,”

A gloved hand lifting the empty glass. Once before it had been filled almost to the brim with whisky, but Abra had long since drained it of its contents. The bartender nodded, and the dreaming magician flashed the man a polite smile. A gloved finger nudged the glass towards them. For the most part, Abra kept what funds he made tucked away safely in the bank. He rarely spoiled himself with material things or even novelties. Instead, most of his funds had been reserved for the rent and entertainment—a bar with copious amounts of alcohol. To the bookworm, this was respite from his living expenses. This was ‘fun’, for him, or as ‘fun’ as it was going to get.