Reaver couldn't quite beieve he was here, in this room, talking to some strange man he didn't know. The couch he was lying on was the way he liked it, at least, expensive and overly soft, and it gave him some sense of comfort.
"I suppose it started with my father," he said as the man across from him nodded for Reaver to continue. His legs were crossed, paper and pencil in hand, poised to take notes. "He never loved me, you see."
"Mm-hmm."
"And then there was that ordeal with the shadow court…dear me, that was a loud night."
"Mm-hmm."
"It bothered me for awhile, though I must say I can't complain now. I've enjoyed myself too much to ever fully regret it."
"Mm-hmm."
"I did lose the only person I ever cared for, however."
"Mm-hmm."
"…My mother, that is. She always tried to do right by me. Can't say I've ever lived up to her expectations. Killed too many people for that."
"Mm-hmm."
"Do you have any advice, my good man?"
The doctor looked at him, old eyes bored and lips pulled into a frown. "No, I'm afraid not. From what I have gathered you are singlehandedly the most narcissistic, egotistical man I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Quite frankly, your utter disregard for other people's lives is greatly disturbing. I do not think there is anything that anyone can do for you, except maybe shoot you, I suppose."
Reaver stood up, seemingly unfazed. "Well, this was actually fairly rewarding for me. Unfortunately for you, I can't let this information get out."
A shot rang out, and a moment later Reaver was walking away from the house, whistling. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that speech, and it wouldn't be the last.