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brad's traveled countless worlds, seen the edge of time, and bumped shoulders with gods and monsters alike. he did it all —— he did it too fast and too young. instead of savoring every moment, he hurried along to the next without ever stopping to wonder if these times would last forever. unfortunately, they did not. he knows how this story ends whether he likes it or not, making everything seem pointless. what's left for someone who can no longer experience newfound pleasures and experiences? boredom. a deep boredom.
he gallivants around as the machiavellian adventurer, putting his wants over the needs of others because that's what he's always done. if he stops moving and breaks for an instant, will those thoughts come back? will he be able to fend off that everything's tinged in grey and pointless? so, he never stops. going from one role to the next keeps him distracted from confronting the end.
the roles he picks are impromptu. whichever is the most interesting at the time. it could be the villain, the mentor, the naysayer, the optimist, anything and everything that lets him escape. if everyone's the protagonist of their story, then brad inserts himself in roles aligned with how it plays out. a chance to see something different — he hopes. it's these roles, however, that keep him from connecting with others. a clever guise painted across that ache inside. if someone threatens to peel them back, he runs. he's always running.
beneath the charm and spells is a lonely man. someone unable to grasp the pleasure of life again because he's seen too many things. he doesn't go out of his way to change things. he doesn't flex against the mold; he exists and continues on. he knows it's pointless. if he changes, it's small things to him. his morality, in some ways, is muddled. as a being deeply touched by magic, his emotions are fickle and wild. it's fluid and dangerous. one moment, things could be fine, and the next, chaos for the sake of chaos. for the sake of excitement.
he struggles to feel things but allows himself to live through others. to let them experience some, never all, of the wonders he's seen. it's a comfort to remember what joy looks like, what sadness and rage appear in another's face when genuine. to see himself, a fractured piece of infinity, sitting in another's gaze. he never has qualms about rushing into danger; he wants to draw out more of those feelings that he has lost. it's cruel to play with others' feelings; he knows and does it anyway. it's the only thing he feels he rests in the palm of his hand.