🍻“ who are you, really ?”
six-drink percy is a real bummer. and maybe that’s because he’s not used to letting idle time slip by, to relaxing around the people he’s supposed to call his friends. but anyone who knows him well enough understands the percy banks is never not working on something--whether it be the exit strategy for the next heist or his emotional baggage. for him, being drunk meant being productive in the latter. and being productive in that territory meant--well, it meant a fluctuating outburst of anger and melancholy at once.
he had learned loss early on in his life. not from his family--when he left them, he hadn’t mourned their absence. but he had lost himself, over and over again, from one identity to the next. after he had legally died, he had taken to switching his name and passport around every couple of months. it made him feel like he was a real skeleton, a shell of a person waiting to be buried six feet deep. he was alone. always. and that would always be his fault.
“a fraud.” he says softly, his face resting its weight on his calloused hand. “a fraud.” he inhales slowly, gathering the unwrapped threads floating around his mind. “i can’t remember who i am. who i’m supposed to be. i’m not the same person i was twenty years ago, or ten, or five--or even two months ago. i feel like i just lost myself a long time ago, and waited for something to come back to me, eventually, but it just.. never came. i don’t have a family. a home. someone to love. and it’s my fault. i’m just living in this stupid skin, calling it ‘mine,’ when i can’t even tell you what ‘mine’ means.”
percy takes a slow sip of his sixth drink, unaffected by the bitter taste traveling down his throat. “percy banks died a long time ago.”
