He did not care about the foolish chink or his perverted club offerings. To care about such things was to invest emotion and precious inner flame to a path that bored and drolled onto endless sleep.
He did not care about the brain-rotted redcap, nor the sniveling Pooka who would cower and follow such a man. They were brutes and the victims of brutes, he could help neither and in fact would make good targets for a scam in the coming months.
He did not care about the state of the slums, nor its houses of broken dreams and whitewashed sin. He would use this place, feed his eternal flame within in their suffering if they would fall to his temptations.
He did care for the starved, for the scared. This was not their choice, they could not help what had happened to them and were desperate. They turned to the Brute, to the Betrayer, to the Lazy and to the Politician. They clung to anything that would support them, for they had no choice.
He remembered when he had made those same mistakes. He remembered it had cost his family and friends and entire plantation everything they had. He remembered the starved women and children, those in his old folly had condemned to death. He remembered his Oath to never stand for this again.
He felt that familiar flower begin to bloom within the soil of the soul, uncurling its blood-red petals slowly through his body till every inch of him thrummed with potential and inner flame. The flower needed pollen spread, water applied and soil replaced to grow lest it consume the poor mortal shell that contain it. He gazed upon the moon and let out the primal cry of his people from ages gone past.
"Soon."
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